


Three Words Maggie Dresden Learned

by windfallswest



Series: Dirty Dancing [5]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen, Kid Fic, POV Female Character, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 03:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12572592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: Three words Maggie Dresden has learned. Spaced between Burninate and Elevator, or more accurately between Burninate and the unwritten Dirty Dancing version ofDead Beat.





	Three Words Maggie Dresden Learned

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick, fluffy little Five Things, but I could never get the other two to gel. So three it is!

**I.**  
"Okay, Padawan, wards are down; can you get the—thanks," I said as Molly opened the steel security door and held it for me. 

Even with Maggie in her sling, I only had one hand in operation, and it was occupied with my staff. I was not liking this one-handed thing. 

Mister streaked between us into the apartment, pausing only to aim a murderous glare up at the notch-eared puppy Molly was holding. He was having some difficulties adjusting to the new world order.

I knew Thomas wasn't home because I hadn't seen his car parked outside, so it was dark and a little chilly in the apartment from the fire burning down. I opened my mouth to ask Molly to get the matches, when—

"Ficka bic!"

I glanced over my shoulder at Molly, whose eyes were as wide as mine felt, then back down at the Scamp.

I hadn't used fire magic since—well, since my hand. Thomas and Molly being around made it easier to manage, not that the one-handed trick with the matches wasn't baller.

"Ficka bic!" Maggie repeated, oblivious to the sudden pounding of my heart and the sweat breaking out on my palms—palm.

I watched my daughter expectantly waving her hands at the interior of the apartment, which remained obstinately dark. Trying to swallow, I discovered my mouth had gone dry.

"Ficka bic!" Maggie commanded impatiently. And very, very softly, I murmured the words, bringing the candles and lamps that lighted my basement apartment to life. A look of such open joy dawned on Maggie's face I thought my heart might melt. That or my knees. I dropped my staff and sank into a chair. Maggie let me hug her for a whole minute before she went scuttling off to drag Mister out of hiding. That girl was going to be the death of me.

 

**II.**  
"Oh, perfect. Just what my day needed," I muttered under my breath.

"What?" Molly asked. 

I had to wonder whether all that metal in her face didn't get cold in the winter. We were on a highly educational supply run to Target. Hey, there's lots of useful stuff at Target. 

"Miss Dresden. Margaret. I haven't seen you for a while; you've grown," said a regrettably familiar voice.

"I try to avoid exposing my daughter to bad influences."

Molly snickered. Okay, that was it: as soon as Johnny-boy was gone, she was next.

Maggie squirmed around and stabbed a ludicrously tiny finger at Marcone. "Bad!"

Marcone did a thing with his eyebrow. Hey, I hadn't gotten that much of a rise out of him with a soulgaze. Kid had talent. I beamed down at her.

"That's right: he's a bad, bad man."

"Bad!"

Marcone sighed. "I don't suppose there's any chance of us having a civil conversation just now, is there?"

Maggie squealed. "Bad!"

"Another time, then," Marcone said with as much dignity as he had left.

I made a face at his retreating back. "Aw, who's my smart girl?"

"Hey, who was that anyway?" Molly asked.

"Whum? John Marcone. Who's up for ice cream?"

 

**III.**  
"Hey, thanks for looking after the Scamp. I hope she wasn't too much trouble."

"No more than the rest of them. She seems very attached to that handkerchief," Michael Carpenter said, smiling fondly at the patch of sidewalk outside his house where Maggie was enjoying the spring weather with the rest of the Jawas.

"It's folded sunlight, in case of vampires," I explained. "You can never start teaching the basics of self-defence too young. She can already close a circle." 

I beamed proudly down at the black-eyed little wonder helping Hope and Harry Carpenter cover the concrete with chalk graffiti. Michael just looked like he was glad Charity hadn't heard that.

I squatted down next to the aspiring artists. "Okay, Scamp, time to say goodbye." 

"No," Maggie said.

"Sorry, kiddo, but them's the breaks."

"No," she insisted.

"I know you're having fun, but if you come home, I'll let you feed the puppy," I tried.

"No!"

"Oh, yeah, someone's overdue for nap-time," I muttered under my breath. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing," Michael said innocently.

I was about to remind him that lying was a sin—or at least, lying that badly was—when Maggie trundled off a few steps onto clear sidewalk, bent over, and dragged an end of green chalk along the concrete as she spun awkwardly around. Then she spat onto the circle and plopped down in the middle of it with that stubborn look on her face.

"Ah, Harry, what exactly did you tell her when you taught her how to make a circle?" Michael asked once he could get words out past the snickers. Paragon of what now? Very classy.

"That if she ever got scared or anyone ever tried to take her somewhere she didn't want to go, it would protect her."

Michael covered his eyes with his hand and groaned, shaking his head. "Oh, Harry."

"It's not like it would stop me from picking her up," I said in my defence. "Heya, Scamp."

Maggie pout-scowled at me in that way that little kids are really good at. Such a tough crowd; time to pull out the big guns.

"Watch this," I told Michael.

I held my hand palm-up in front of my face and whispered, " _Lux_ ," over it, blowing to send the little cloud of multi-coloured lights flying towards the circle. They parted and swirled around the mystical barrier. Michael's kids cheered; Maggie squealed and clapped her hands in delight.

"Good job," I told her seriously. "Now, what comes next?"

Maggie looked around carefully, as though the Carpenter mob might in fact be supernatural hooligans instead of just the regular kind. Then she clambered baby-awkward back up to her feet and scuffed the circle with her shoe, breaking it. I held my arms out to beckon her in for a well-deserved hug and transportation back home.

"Nooooo!" Maggie yelled triumphantly, running past me into the Carpenters' house.

Michael burst out laughing.


End file.
